


Impudicity

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Multi, OT4, bokuakakurotsuki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6382939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima watches them dance, shamelessly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impudicity

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by @screamingshark and their super hella cute dance au

Akaashi dances like he talks; soft, fluid sentences, that bleed into sharp words- sharp steps, sharp eyes. Everything about him is sharp, but also so, so soft.

Bokuto dances like he laughs; loud, bright, and noisy. He’s in your face when he speaks, and he’s the only thing you see when he dances. Strong movements, strong arms, strong thighs. Bokuto _is_ strong.

Kuroo dances like he fucks; slow, at first, before he snaps, and shows you what he can _really_ do. He dances like his kisses- crafty, and seductive. His body bends into amazing shapes, and his eyes captivate any audience.

It’s actually kind of unfair.

Tsukishima isn’t sure what he’s like. He just dances, because, well, he likes it.

He likes the music, and the smell of powder on hands. There’s something about losing himself in it all- it makes him forget that he’s a horrible person, sometimes.

But Tsukishima likes watching it more; he watches Akaashi stretch every morning, leg up on the bar, gentle fingers gripping his toes. He watches Bokuto do hand hops for hours, grinning, as if it doesn’t hurt at all. He watches Kuroo dance to pop music, watches his body as he moves to every beat, every melody.

They’re beautiful. Tsukishima doesn’t like to throw that word around- it’s kind of hackneyed, and he’s tired of hearing _beautiful this, beautiful that-_ but as soon as Tsukishima sees them dance, he thinks _fuck, they’re beautiful._

And they’re even more stunning in bed.

“Dammit.” Bokuto groans, his hair sliding against the pillows, “You know, I’m not normally the one to say this, but you can’t leave bruises. I have a show tomorrow.”

Kuroo looks up through his eyelashes, and smiles, just like a cat would, if a cat could smile, that is. He moves his mouth just a hair upwards, and bites into Bokuto’s thigh.

“ _Dammit,_ Kuroo.” Bokuto hisses, because it feels good as hell.  Tsukishima sees what he’s done; the bruise forming is just a millimeter above where his dance shorts usually sit. If they ride up just a smidge during the show, then everyone will see the hickey for sure. It’s diabolical, its evil, and its exactly what Tsukishima would have done.

Akaashi hums, and swivels his hips- and oh yeah, he’s kind of straddling Tsukishima’s thighs right now. He’s doing some kind of amazing thing with his pelvis, and Tsukishima thinks he might be half dead. _Half_ dead, because the lower part of his body is definitely at 100 percent attention, and ready to go.

Akaashi is really good at keeping a rhythm- but so is Tsukishima. Together they grind perfectly, almost like a dance.

Kuroo’s head is still between Bokuto’s thighs, teasing him relentlessly, because that’s what Kuroo _does._ Kuroo teases, and pokes, and prods. He pushes buttons, and waits to see what it triggers. Tsukishima can relate- he’s kind of an asshole too.

But Kuroo is different. He’s a genuinely nice person- which is obvious, seeing how he’s got Bokuto halfway down his throat right now. Bokuto makes nothing but gorgeous half moans and gasps, and its as beautiful as the music they dance to.

Akaashi slides his hands down Tsukishima’s chest. They glide over muscle, and press into his sides. Tsukishima watches him, still grinding up against Akaashi. Their bodies slide together, all sweat, and heat, and precome- it’s a sensation that Tsukishima hasn’t gotten used to yet.

Akaashi is watching him intently, eyes sharp, mouth slightly open. He drinks in Tsukishima’s body, and the younger looks away. Tsukishima isn’t built strong, like Bokuto, or soft, like Akaashi, or lean, like Kuroo. Sometimes he feels as if he got the short end of the stick- or in this case, the _long_ one, seeing as he looks like he’s been through the Willy Wonka taffy stretcher.

Akaashi reaches between them, and presses his hand up against Tsukishima’s navel. He trails his fingers down, and around his hips, where there is a visible V. He leans forwards to kiss him- its soft, just like Akaashi’s thighs- and Tsukishima sighs into the kiss. Akaashi bumps against his glasses, but knows not to take them off- Tsukishima prefers to see.

There’s impossibly lewd noises happening to his right, and Tsukishima is tempted to look- but he already knows what he’ll see; Kuroo’s mouth wrapped around Bokuto’s cock, lips nearly touching his base- Bokuto’s head thrown back, teeth bared in an attempt to stay quiet.

Tsukishima opens an eye, and yep-that’s exactly what he sees.

A hand grasps his cheek, and Tsukishima turns back to kiss Akaashi once more.

* * *

 

“Kuroo, you fucked me too hard last night.” Akaashi complains the next morning. He’s stretching with his arms high above his head, soft belly showing just beneath his shirt.

“Sorry.” Kuroo begins, and then laughs, “But also not sorry.”

Tsukishima looks around the room- there’s other people using this dance studio, after all. He’s always been surprised at how _easily_ the other three have taken to this- this whole, relationship thing they’ve got going on. They talk about it in the open, where everyone can hear, and Tsukishima’s first instinct is to hide away.

Hide, hide, hide.

Hide your interests, hide your acne, hide your laugh, hide your scars, hide your sexuality, hide your _love._ It’s exhausting, and Tsukishima is tired of hiding- so he tells himself to _calm down_ and trust in them.

“Well, my ass hurts.” Akaashi says, blatantly. “And Bokuto is at his dress rehearsal.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tsukishima blinks, one leg tucked into his thigh, the other stretched out on the floor.

“Because.” Akaashi about grins, “Whenever he fucks me too hard, he always kisses it better.”

Tsukishima’s eyes about pop out of his damn head, and Kuroo opens his mouth and laughs.

“ _Dude._ I’d totally do that for you.”

“Nah, Bokuto is better at it.”

“W-well, how would you know?”

“Uh, I do believe you are well acquainted with Bokuto’s tongue?”

“Right.” Kuroo nods, thoughtfully, “Touché.”

Tsukishima’s brain doesn’t have time to filter out his reply, “Are we really talking about eating ass in the middle of the studio?”

“Are you that surprised?”

Tsukishima pauses for a moment. He switches to stretch his left leg, and says, “Actually, no.”

* * *

 

Bokuto is amazing. There’s no other way to describe it.

Tsukishima sits between his boyfriends, and watches his _other_ boyfriend dance his heart out on the stage. He’s with four other people, but he shines the brightest.

Bokuto suddenly jumps up front, and does a perfect flip onto his hands- something he spent _hours_ perfecting, and Tsukishima feels pride swell in his chest. He looks over to his right, and sees Kuroo wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand- so he reaches over and squeezes his thigh supportively. Kuroo looks up and grins as he cries, because he’s just so _proud._ Tsukishima understands. He feels the same way.

He looks over at Akaashi; his eyes are focused on nothing but Bokuto. He doesn’t see the lady chewing gum to his left, or the guy talking loudly up front, or the other dancers on the stage- he just sees Bokuto.

And Tsukishima realizes something.

 _That_ is the definition of pride.

* * *

 

Its times like these that everything comes into perspective. The shortness of human life; the imminent doom that hovers over earth; the horrors of the universe; the horrors within _himself._ They’re real. But they’re not important.

 _This._ This is important.

Akaashi’s arms are thrown around the back of Bokuto’s neck. His face is in his shoulder, and they’re swaying back and forth to soft music. It’s dark- the room smells like linens, and their naked feet press into the cold wood floor.

Tsukishima perches on the bed, and watches Bokuto lift Akaashi up by his waist. The younger spreads his legs wide, twisting in Bokuto’s arms, before he’s brought back onto the ground gently. They dance beautifully together, perfectly in sync.

They’re in pajamas- faces washed, hair fluffy from the heat of the shower, and its almost midnight.

But Bokuto and Akaashi dance. It’s lovely, and romantic, and Tsukishima can’t look away.

Bokuto lifts Akaashi once more, as if he weighs nothing, and Akaashi arches his back. He wraps his legs around Bokuto’s firm waist, and lets him dip his head towards the ground. It’s so fluid- as if they’d practiced it a thousand times. They trust each other _so_ much, its baffling. 

There’s a hand in front of Tsukishima’s face.

“May I have this dance?” Kuroo purrs, almost jokingly, and Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

“Are you incapable of sitting still for five minutes?”

“Yes.” Kuroo answers honestly, “Because I want to dance with you.”

_With you._

Tsukishima looks up to consider his options. He waits, before he slowly takes the hand offered to him.

Kuroo pulls him close- their fingers tangle together- Kuroo’s left hand rests on Tsukishima’s hip, and the younger places his right hand on Kuroo’s shoulder.

He doesn’t know what dance they’re going to do, but he decides to just follow Kuroo’s lead.

Kuroo sweeps his bare foot backwards against the floor, in one long swoop, and Tsukishima recognizes the step almost immediately. He follows, and stares up at Kuroo as they dance, sweet, and precise.

Bokuto and Akaashi are still moving together fluidly- hands sliding across muscle, toes curling, backs arching. It’s not sexual- it’s emotional- it’s a expression, a conversation, a well addressed letter. It’s more than Tsukishima can understand- his feeble ability to connect to other humans hinders him.

But he’s getting better.

Kuroo sweeps his foot forwards, and Tsukishima steps back. Kuroo is looking at him with these _eyes-_ they stare through his clothes, through his skull, through his anatomical makeup. They see his genetic coding, they see the space between atoms. Tsukishima can only look back.

The hand on his waist is warm, and a little comforting, and Tsukishima isn’t surprised when lips meet his own. It’s not heated, or forceful, or like any of the kisses he’s used to. It’s just one simple kiss, as they dance together in their bedroom.

Kuroo pulls back to say softly, “I love you.”

His chest swells with hot, red emotion, but Tsukishima pushes the feeling back. He lifts a hand to Kuroo’s hair, tangles it in the unruly strands, and brings his face back towards his own.

* * *

 

Akaashi wears yoga pants to the studio, and it’s probably the most distracting thing Tsukishima has ever seen. He’s very, very acquainted with Akaashi’s ass (it’s a very nice ass), and he’s even _more_ acquainted with his thighs, but fucking _hell_ those pants. They’re suctioned onto his skin. Tsukishima wonders if he’ll need scissors to undress tonight.

“You look concerned.”

“I am concerned.” Tsukishima says, and doesn’t look away from Akaashi. “I’m concerned for my own mental health.”

“Join the club.” Kuroo responds, and follows Tsukishima’s gaze. He then huffs a laugh, “Oh, the pants.”

“I’m pretty sure the universe made yoga pants just to fuck with my life.”

“Hmm.” Kuroo blinks, and opens up his hand. He pretends to write against his palm, and says, “Buy…yoga…pants…”

Tsukishima elbows him, and throws Kuroo a playful look. Kuroo laughs, openly, and it rings sweetly in Tsukishima’s ears.

“Hey, whatchu’ guys talking about?” Bokuto pipes, and slings an arm around both their shoulders.

“Tsukki is kinky as hell.”

“Oh.” Bokuto says, and Tsukishima slaps his forehead. Bokuto laughs in his ear, “Well, that’s no surprise to anyone.”

“I’m done here.” Tsukishima says, and ducks out of Bokuto’s arm fluidly. Bokuto huffs, and Kuroo laughs behind him.

Akaashi is still wearing those stupid yoga pants, and Tsukishima is still hard as hell.

 

* * *

 

He's willing to admit it; he is really good at lap dances. Tsukishima can keep that straight face- unlike Kuroo- and he can roll his body in ways Bokuto probably can’t. He can talk dirty. He can do all those things.

So he uses it to his advantage.

It’s his only trump card, and he plays it rarely- usually placed so calmly in his deck of witty comebacks.

But tonight he uses it against Kuroo. He grips the back of the couch and rolls his body, glaring down at Kuroo like he’s the scum of the earth. Kuroo is breathless, face open in shock, desperately trying to look cool, but failing. Tsukishima moves his body deviously; trained by countless hours of stretching, and dancing. He’s atoned to his senses; he knows what he’s doing.

“You’ll lose, Kuroo.” Akaashi calls, watching them as if he’s bored- but that’s not true, because he is seated so very comfortably on Bokuto’s dick.

“Shut up.” Kuroo spits, and fists his hands in the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Tsukishima purrs, and grinds against Kuroo. He’s wearing gym shorts, which does nothing but aid Tsukishima in his venture. “Throwing a fit because you can’t get what you want?”

“You’re a little brat.” Kuroo says with no venum. He’s digging his nails into the cushions, face constantly changing between arousal and determination.

“Oh? Now we’re name calling?” Tsukishima rolls his body, trailing his hands down Kuroo’s chest, “All because you can’t touch? Pathetic.”

“Fuck you.” Kuroo spits, “I’m getting that free Chinese food.”

“Over my dead body.” Tsukishima says, and dances in Kuroo’s lap.

“This is stupid.” Akaashi huffs, as he rides Bokuto like a champ. Bokuto has left planet earth- his head is tipped back, hands barely resting on Akaashi’s hips. He pants between each downthrust, “Stop... making bets...and just buy...dinner together.”

“No.” They say simultaneously, and Tsukishima swivels his hips in little circles.

“I’m going to break him.” Tsukishima says flatly, and Kuroo visibly shivers. Tsukishima leans down to mumble against his ear, “Did you hear that? I’m going to _break_ that stupid smile off your face.”

Kuroo presses his nails into the palms of his hands, and glares. Tsukishima taking control is a _huge_ turn on, and he thinks he might actually be the hardest he’s ever been in his life.

Tsukishima can feel that, and grins. He’s so very evil, but dancing has trained his body for this. He slides his mouth down to Kuroo’s neck, and licks a long stripe up to his ear. His skin is salty from the sweat, but tastes just like Tsukishima expected.

And Kuroo does break. He reaches up to grip Tsukishima’s hips, and slams them down against his own. Tsukishima gasps, head lolling from the sudden movement, and he shoots up to smirk at Kuroo.

“I win.”

“You’re right.” Kuroo says, and wraps an arm around Tsukishima’s waist. He flips him, easily, onto his back, and Tsukishima is nearly winded from hitting the cushions so hard. Kuroo takes both his naked thighs, and spreads them far and wide. He grins, “But I get my _own_ free dinner.”

* * *

 

Everything hurts. His feet. His hands. His legs. His arms. They ache, like lead. He feels like wolverine- adamantium sitting in his bones.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and gazes at the bruises on his knees. They’re round, and purple, and screaming from misuse. His elbows are bruised, and he’s had to wrap his toes to keep the pain away.

But there’s one bruise that’s different. A simple set of teeth marks on his hip.

He lifts his arm, and it doesn’t feel like his own. He places his hand right over the bite. He thumbs into the bruise, and presses a little. It hurts, but it feels good.

His body looks so strange; pale, and covered in purple. It’s ugly, but he wears the marks like a badge of honor. He’s worked hard. He’s fallen, and fallen, and danced until he’s cried.

A door opens, and Tsukishima doesn’t have to turn around to see who it is- the footsteps are way too light.

“Mm, assessing the damage?” Akaashi asks, sliding over to his body.

“I look like hell.” Tsukishima says, and turns a little.

“You do.”  Akaashis says, and wraps his arms around him from behind, “I’m proud of you.”

That phrase has more meaning than Tsukishima would like to admit, but he plays it off. “Thanks.”

Akaashi looks at him in the mirror; he drinks in his skin- traces the outlines of his body with his eyes. He reaches around to press his hand over the teeth marks, and smiles into his back.

“I like this one the most.”

Tsukishima pauses, before he nods, and says, “I do too.”

Akaashi grins into his long back, and smiles, “I love you.”

He turns around in Akaashi’s arms, and tangles his hands in black hair.

* * *

 

Tsukishima trips.

He had one job on stage; not trip. And what does he do? He trips.

It wasn’t that bad, he just fell before hopping back to his feet to continue- he’s still given hugs and kisses, and told  _congratulations!_ and _you were amazing!!_

But he’s upset. He’s really upset- the guilt and anger bubbles inside him, and he wants to scratch it out of his skin.

He practiced countless hours; he tore skin, he bruised bone, only for hundreds of people to see him fall.

Akaashi and Kuroo drop them off at the apartment- they leave them to pick up dinner. Tsukishima’s chest is heavy, and his throat is tight, and his entire body feels hot with self-directed anger. As soon as they step through the front door, Tsukishima stalks up to Bokuto, and grips the front of his shirt. Bokuto’s eyes go wide, and he lets himself be tugged forwards. He looks up at Tsukishima with pretty round eyes, and listens to him as he says,

“ _Fuck me._ ”

Bokuto blinks, before giving a smile, “Well, you know, we’re dating. All you have to do is ask.”

“No.” Tsukishima spits, and shoves Bokuto up against the door. Bokuto’s head bonks against the wood, and he winces as Tsukishima says, low, “I want you to fuck me like you fuck Kuroo.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen, lips pressed into a firm line. He stares and stares, and Tsukishima is growing impatient because he’s _angry._ He’s angry at himself and he wants this gone. He doesn’t want to remember anything- he wants to reach an itch he can’t scratch.

Bokuto nods, once, but gently lifts his hands to place on either side of Tsukishima’s face.

He opens his mouth and says, seriously, “You did amazing. You know that, right?”

Tsukishima doesn’t want to hear this because he _tripped._ He fell. In front of everyone. He grips Bokuto’s shirt tighter and stares at the door besides Bokuto’s head.

Bokuto slides his hands around Tsukishima’s neck gently- the last soft touch he’ll feel for a little while- and Bokuto says, “Okay.” before he tells him, “I love you.”

* * *

 

There’s a thump- the sound of food hitting the counter top at an alarming rate. There’s rushed footsteps, the sound of a door-

And Tsukishima isn’t surprised to see Akaashi and Kuroo standing in the doorway, eyes wide, chests heaving. Of course they’d panic- with all the noise they’re making.

Tsukishima turns his face back into the pillows, and lets out a sharp cry- it’s not like him, but he needs to let it out _somehow._

Bokuto isn’t showing any mercy, but that’s alright- Tsukishima didn’t want him to. He presses his hand against the top of Tsukishima’s back, and forces his face into the sheets- Bokuto's thighs meet Tsukishima's with every hard thrust. Tsukishima nearly chokes, but he's glad. He’s forgetting. This is prefect.

Akaashi and Kuroo share a look- they seem to understand well enough. This is a scene. They can’t interrupt- so they creep onto the opposite side of the room; Kuroo sits down in the office chair, and Akaashi crawls into his lap. They watch, just to make sure everything goes okay.

Tsukishima grips onto the bars of the headboard and cries- Bokuto is filling his body, his ears, his mind, his soul, and its exactly what he wants. Bokutos thrusts are hard, and heavy, and the hand on his hip is strong, and painful.

His body is shaking, barely able to stay up on his knees, and he’s drooling into the pillow. Everything hurts. Everything feels amazing.

Tsukishima turns his head to look up at Bokuto, but a hand grips the back of his head. The hand pulls hard on his hair, and Tsukishima yells out in pain.

Akaashi stands up off of Kuroo’s lap, and there’s the sound of a struggle, and whispers-

_“You can’t stop them-“_

_“Tsukki isn’t you!”_

_“He can take it-“_

_“He’ll break him-“_

_“He knows the safeword-_ “

Tsukishima doesn’t hear a thing they’re saying. He just feels blood rushing past his hears, and the way his knees ache. The knees that he tripped onto- they’re bruised, and digging into the sheets, sliding forwards with every snap of Bokuto’s hips.

Tsukishima opens his mouth, sucking in deep, choked off breaths. His body burns, but it feels so _good._ His cock is rubbing into the sheets, and his eyes are welling up with frustrated tears.

It’s not until after, when Bokuto presses soft kisses into his tummy, wiping his thighs down with a cloth, that Tsukishima feels the weight lift off his chest.

“I feel better.” Tsukishima says, dumbly, because he does. That gross disappointment, that sickening self-conscious bullshit, it bled out of him, through teeth marks and tears.

Bokuto smiles against his belly, and crawls up to kiss him, brilliantly.

* * *

 

Tsukishima likes to watch people.

Humans are disgusting creatures, like wolves, scrambling over the other to gain the lead. They pack together, they’re bratty, they’re disgusting.

They’re interesting to observe.

The dance studio is a jungle; all gross gossip and snarky remarks. Tsukishima will admit, he’s part of the problem.

He watches Akaashi, Kuroo, and Bokuto practice, and his perception of humanity lightens, just a little.

“No, no.” Bokuto shakes his head. He’s in these dumb leggings and gym-short combo, and Tsukishima is mad, because he looks really cute. “You don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Tsukishima asks, because he’s suddenly interested in whatever’s caused Bokuto to make that face.

Bokuto sighs, “Akaashi thinks that ballet is stupid.”

“It is stupid.” Akaashi says, flatly. “It’s boring.”

“It’s awesome!” Bokuto answers. “I mean, well. I’m not cut out for it, but you totally could be!”

“No way.” Akaashi says, and picks something out of his teeth with his pinkynail. “I can’t lift up a girl.”

“Babe, that’s bullshit.” Kuroo pauses his practice to glare. “I once watched you tip the fridge backwards singlehandedly.”

“Okay, well.” Akaashi says, “That was because I dropped my yogurt and it rolled underneath.”

“You’re kidding.” Tsukishima deadpans.

“Not at all.”

“Dude, I watched him lift up that fridge so fast.”

“It was like, that adrenaline a mom gets when her kid is trapped under a car.”

Tsukishima isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry, but they’re all so serious, that he takes to laughing.

“You’re not fucking serious.”

“I take my Chobani very seriously.” Akaashi says, as he walks away. Kuroo snorts into his hand, and Bokuto sighs.

“One day Akaashi!” Bokuto waves his finger, “One day I’ll get your beautiful ass to do ballet!”

Akaashi flips him off as he walks away, and Kuroo snorts, whole heartedly.

Tsukishima does what he does best, and watches.

He watches how Akaashi throws a final look over his shoulder- a glance, that says, _I didn’t mean that-_ and Bokuto gives a fake pout, that means _I know._ He looks over to Kuroo, and sees that Kuroo is already watching him. There's an odd glint in his eye, and Tsukishima stares, before breaking eye contact. 

* * *

 

Cold toes wiggle against calves. Fingers tangle in sheets. It’s warm, and its home.

Their bodies are sore, from practice, and from housework. Tsukishima is the most relaxed he’s ever been; Bokuto’s strong arms around his back, Akaashi snuggled in his front. He can see Kuroo’s bed head over Akaashi’s shoulder, and Tsukishima feels at peace.

Hands move up and down his hip soothingly. They move in lazy circles, and trail over his hip bone, then down his thigh. Tsukishima almost winces- it’s so sickeningly sweet.

There’s a voice at the back of his neck.

“Tsukishima?”

His eyes open at the use of his full name. He blinks, only a short distance away from Akaashi’s face.

“Yes?”

There's a pause- and Tsukishima is instantly worried. He knows Bokuto well; he knows that Bokuto doesn't get embarassed, doesn't have regrets, and definitely never thinks twice about what he's going to say.

But he pauses, and Tsukishima's heart thumps against his ribcage. He presses, softly, "Bokuto?"

“Do you love us?”

And suddenly, the room is swelling. It’s swelling, and swelling, growing like a balloon, filling with thick fog. The tension seeps into his bones, and absorbes his body whole. Akaashi’s eyes open, and Tsukishima suddenly can’t breathe.

It hits him all at once-sickeningly so.

He’s never told them he loves them.

Not even once.

Kuroo’s head pops up, eagerly awaiting his response. Tsukishima’s eyes are wide, and his mouth is opening, and closing, desperately reaching for the right words.

Seconds tick by. Tsukishima doesn’t say a thing.

Akaashi’s face is nothing but crestfallen, and Tsukishima feels sludge settle in his throat. It grows, and it grows, clogging his breath- stopping his words.

He’s shaking. He’s shaking with regret, and guilt, and so many emotions that he can’t stand.

Kuroo looks at him over Akaashi’s shoulder, one last time, before closing his eyes, and settling back into the bed. Akaashi isn’t looking at him. Akaashi _isn’t looking at him-_

 _Speak._ He tells himself, _Speak! Speak! Speak!-_

“That’s okay.” Bokuto says against his neck. His voice is full of hidden disappointment, “I was just wondering. We still love you, though.”

Akaashi nods, sadly, and Kuroo doesn’t say a thing.

Tsukishima breaks open- he tears through the sludge in his throat- he bursts through the barrier- he gasps, and says,

“I love you. I love you all shamelessly.”

Akaashi’s eyes snap to him, and Kuroo pops back up onto his arms. He feels Bokuto tense behind him.

“What?”

“Undeservingly.” Tsukishima sputters, “Undeservingly,so.”

“Tsukishima.” Akaashi says, flatly. “No.”

“People are horrible.” Tsukishima says, out of nowhere, “They’re disgusting, and I hate them. I am one, and I hate them. But not you. You guys are, are,” he doesn’t even know what he’s _saying-_ “- you’re not them. You’re not the world. You’re all elegant strides and happy faces. I’m not that.”

Bokuto and Kuroo are lost- but Akaashi understands. Akaashi _always_ understands.

He reaches forwards, and presses a hand against Tsukishima’s cheek. He says, softly, “You are beautiful, Tsukishima.”

“Shut up.” He says.

Bokuto and Kuroo suddenly understand; they repeat, “We _love_ you-“

“Shut. Up.” He says.

“We love you.” They repeat, again, and Tsukishima looks up through foggy gold eyes. That sludge is back, soaking in his throat- but this time it causes him to choke off tears. He fucking _hates_ crying.

He manages to say, “I love you too.” And Akaashi pushes himself out of Kuroo’s arms, and into Tsukishima’s. He grips him hard, and gasps into his neck, so happy. So, so happy.

Tsukishima loves them. He loves the way Kuroo talks in bed. He loves how Bokuto laughs at stupid jokes. He loves how Akaashi sings in the shower.

He especially loves the way they dance.

Strong, and solid. Soft, and fluid. Sharp, and precise. Tall, and elegant.

This is how they dance.

And they dance, together.

Shamelessly.

**Author's Note:**

> im·pu·dic·i·ty (ĭm′pyo͝o-dĭs′ĭ-tē)
> 
> n.
> 
> Immodesty; shamelessness.


End file.
